


wee fluffy zombie crack!fic

by kayliemalinza



Series: Zombie Fluff [1]
Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies), Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl (2003)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Zombies, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-11-22
Updated: 2006-11-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 08:04:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/293519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayliemalinza/pseuds/kayliemalinza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The rumors about what Old Man Barbossa has buried in his backyard are true.... Good thing it's not a school night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	wee fluffy zombie crack!fic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lostwiginity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostwiginity/gifts).



> Written for lostwiginity, who said, "Hey, why don't you write a crack!fic about Jack turning into an undead skelleton again and James finding this incredibly sexy, with amourous consequences?"
> 
> This fic sparked a world-building jam session in the comments of [the original post on Livejournal](http://community.livejournal.com/crackrabbits/4706.html).

James was raised to be a serious young man who was dedicated to his studies and didn't get into trouble the way the riff-raff at the high school did, but he always liked zombie films and even his father's most disappointed glare couldn't change that. So Saturday night meant he was on the couch watching the Horror Channel's Ghasterpiece Theater in the dark, though he finished his homework first.

The scratching at the windows was dismissed as the wind in the trees. It moved to the glass patio door, and was dismissed as the cat. James didn't like the cat, so he wasn't going to pull aside the curtain to look, or open the door to let her in. Even if his hands were a little cold and he would've liked to have something fat and fuzzy on his lap while all the brain-chomping happened onscreen.

The Morse Code against the doorframe was more difficult to explain away, but James was a bright lad. He managed it.

Then his cell phone rang.

"Er... hello?" he said.

"James?" The voice at the other end was crackly, kind of strained. "James Norrington? This is Jack Sparrow."

James raised an eyebrow. Sparrow definitely qualified as "riff-raff." And as "a highly attractive sexually ambiguous bad-boy with whom James wouldn't mind skivving off Maths to go snog behind the groundskeeper shed," but that was neither here nor there. Well, actually, it was here *and* there but James had well-honed skills of repression and denial. "How did you get my number," he asked very sternly.

There was a moment of guilty silence. "Erm... Lizzie Swann gave it to me. That's not important. You like zombies, right?"

James made a mental note to glare at Elizabeth in school on Monday. Don't explain himself, just... let her wonder. "I enjoy watching the occasional undead horror film, yes."

Jack sighed exasperatedly. "Look, everyone knows you're a total nut about it. You're probably watching it on the telly right now. Look, I'm in a very... peculiar position here and I need your help."

"Really," said James. "That's quite interesting."

"I am being dead serious," said Jack with a little laugh. "Please, _please_ just open your curtains? You'll see what I mean."

James let out a long, resigned sigh and got off the couch. Sparrow's skills of persuasion were legendary. It was best to just get this over with. Hoping to take Sparrow and his buddies off-guard, he flung open the curtains with a violent jerk.

And stared.

He tilted his head to the side, then raised the cell phone back to his ear. "That's very impressive, Jack. Where did you get the costume? The make-up is very nice. Oh, and you can tell your buddies to come out of the bushes or where ever they're hiding with their cameras."

Jack shook his head, dark eyes gleaming pleadingly in the soft glow from his cell phone. "No buddies, mate. No costume either." He stepped forward, out of the moonlight and into the shadow from the awning and.... coalesced.

James dropped the phone.

Jack bit his lip and waited for James to pick it up again.

"How..." James cleared his throat and resettled the phone against his ear. "How did this happen?"

Jack gave a tremulous half-grin. "You remember the stories about the cursed treasure in Old Man Barbossa's backyard?"

James pinched the bridge of his nose. "Only twelve year-olds believe that story."

"Right," said Jack. "And twelve year olds don't have the upper body strength required to dig as deep as necessary, savvy? It _is_ beneath the mulberry bushes." He frowned. "Or it was. Now it's in my car. And it really is cursed. An' when I touched it, it passed the curse to me." He scratched his head and looked hesitantly at James. "Can curses pass to objects? I don't want my Pearl to get hurt. S'wasn't her fault."

It was James' opinion that Jack's '83 El Dorado was already cursed, but it would be unkind to say so, considering the current situation. "I'm sure your car is fine," he said.

The cell phone continued to static-buzz in his ear. "There's some dirt in the trunk, though. I wrapped the treasure up in towels and everything, but some got through, and it's that real thick black soil, you know, and I'm afraid it's getting ground into the felt—"

"Jack."

Jack pouted at him through the glass. "She's a good car." He smirked. "Got a really nice backseat, you know. Very big and cushy." He winked.

"Indeed," James said dryly.

Jack looked disappointed. "Can I come in?" he asked. "I'm running out of minutes on my phone."

"Of _course_ you can't come in!" James said. "You're a zombie! You'll try to eat my brains!"

"No no, mate, I think I'm a _good_ zombie," said Jack. "I'm not hungry at all. And I didn't eat your cat."

Dear God, Lucy! "So help me, Sparrow, if you've hurt her—"

"I didn't hurt her! I skritched her ears. She's a very nice cat," Jack said. "I think she likes me." He looked appealingly at James as if to say, "Don't you like me, too?"

"I'm not letting you in," said James.

"Why not?"

"Because... because of that!" James stepped aside so Jack could see the telly. The screen was filled with zombies engorging on the flesh of the living. Jack watched interestedly for a moment, then stepped closer to the glass door.

"But I'm not like that," he said. "I won't eat your brains, I promise." He laid his palm beseechingly against the glass.

"That exactly what a brain-eating zombie would want me to think," said James. "You're smudging the door."

Jack dropped his hand with a scowl. "How are you supposed to help me, then?"

"I think the implication is that I'm _not_ going to help you, Sparrow," James drawled.

Jack stared at him, angry and hurt and confused. "But you _have_ to," he said, the crackliness of the reception not disguising the desperation in his voice. "I don't want to be like _this_ forever!" He stepped back into the moonlight; it was like he'd shrugged a robe from his shoulders. Now that James knew it was real and not a costume, that the pulsing muscle there was Jack's heart and its cluttered cage his ribs, that the swooping bone there was his hip and not some cloth and plastic model, it was—

Jack grinned, and the gleam of naked teeth was no less alluring than the stretch of supple lips. "Are you sure there's nothing I can do to persuade you?"

James hung up the phone. He slid open the glass door.


End file.
